


Respite

by Anonymous



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Communication, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Even more pining, Hand Jobs, Implied Voyeurism, More pining than you'd expect, Oral Sex, Other, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Sex, also Shoin can die by my blade, and, chapter 2 has:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "You’ll find the stage is set for a perfect respite/And don’t say I never gave you anything nice.”Things We Know About Shoin:- Read smutty romances- Is a disgusting person(now with a follow-up chapter full of communication)
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

“Okay… weird,” Zolf says. It’s the first thing either of them have said since they heard the unmistakable sound of the door they entered through locking behind them.

Cel looks around at the blackness that surrounds them. All that they can get from where they are is that it smells like mothballs and wilted flowers and something almost sickly sweet. That’s unusual but they have the feeling that’s not what Zolf is referring to, and they’d like an actual description, thanks.

“Weird is a- a- an extremely vague word, you know. A lot of things can be called weird. I’m called weird - very often, and sometimes by myself, but I like to think I am a charming, enjoyable kind of weird and not the offputting, might-kill-you kind of weird. Unless I’m  _ trying _ to be the might-kill-you kind of weird, in which case, that’s-”

“Cel,” Zolf says flatly. Cel falls silent, glad the darkness means he can’t see them flush. Except- wait, he has dark-vision. Shit. 

“I’m just saying, ‘good-weird’ or ‘bad-weird,’” they grumble.

“Weird-weird,” Zolf says and Cel huffs. “Listen- I can’t see a door out yet, so I’m gonna need a hand. Just- stay where you are - I think there might be some torches along the other wall.”

Cel nods and tries not to squirm impatiently. The smell of this place is making them feel dizzy and they’re getting very tired of this total-darkness thing they keep running into in Shoin’s dungeon. At least before they had Azu to hold their hand, but she took one of Cel’s reduce-person potions to go with Hamid and Skraak - so that each half of the split group had a healer - and Zolf doesn’t seem like a… hand-holdy type. 

They rock back on their heels, listening to the quiet thuds of his footsteps. A second later a torch bursts into flame, set into a sconce on the wall, and Cel blinks as their eyes adjust to a dim, flickering light that just makes the room visible.

“Oh,” they say. “Weird.”

They catch a hint of a smile. “Told ya.”

What’s  _ weird _ is, in the middle of what has been the far more technical and scientific areas of this complex, there is a bedroom that looks like it was transplanted from the manor above. It’s tiny but just as extravagant; the torchlight reflects on wallpaper, a rich purple color with intricate designs, and on the expensive fabric on what is possibly the largest bed Cel has ever seen. 

It’s centered in the small room - it might be the  _ only _ furniture here; there’s not really room for anything else - with four high posts at each corner draping silken fabric in a canopy overhead. It looks a bit dusty, but nonetheless incredibly inviting. Zolf curing fatigue could really only do so much to wipe out the fact that they had been in this institute for an entire night.

“No door,” Zolf says. They look around the walls again and confirm his observation. The whole room seems to be a bit hazy from dust particles in the air - or is it smoke from the torch? 

“Are we thinking ‘hidden exit’ or ‘dead-end’?”

“I’d almost prefer dead-end, honestly,” he grumbles. “This better not be another puzzle room.”

Cel rolls their eyes but won’t make another comment about how really, those rooms you escape from could be a very fun activity if the person who made them wasn’t an amoral megalomaniac. Instead they say, “You’re good at- at the perception thing- do you want to take searching for a door, and I’ll look at the lock?”

They’re not quite sure how to work with him yet and they brighten when Zolf responds with a nod and a rare and genuine smile, the kind that makes his eyes sparkle. It makes Cel feel warmer than expected. 

They shake themself and turn away from both him and the expansive bed, studying the mechanics that have them locked in here. The warm feeling remains, to the point there they feel a bit better because it clearly wasn’t Zolf’s smile that did it, even if it is a very nice smile. He should really smile more- 

“Is it getting warmer in here?” Zolf calls from the other side of the room. Cel relaxes further. 

“Certainly feels like it!” They pause. “Have you noticed the smell?”

“Oh, that’s _not_ just me!”

“Nope!” It’s saturated in the air, saccharine with a sharp, unrecognizable edge, sticking to their hair and clothes. Actually, it would make sense if that was the haze to the room - they just wish they knew where it was coming from. 

“All the more reason to get out of here,” Zolf adds. Cel realizes they haven’t been paying the least bit of attention to the door and returns to it. It’s a good locking mechanism by their standards, which are admittedly terribly low. They’re sure that Sasha person that Zolf has mentioned could have handled it. 

They sigh. “Not having much luck- do you want to trade- uh-” Cel trails off, having turned just in time to watch Zolf shrug out of his coat, tossing it unceremoniously onto the bed. 

“Z- Zolf- uh, Mr. Smith- wh- what are you doing?”

Zolf doesn’t quite look at them. “Too bloody hot to concentrate,” he says gruffly. 

That’s reasonable enough. Cel thinks they’d very much like to get out of their own coat - but  _ their _ coat hadn’t been burnt from several lightning strikes and the clothing they wore under it wasn’t in such tatters that they’re practically useless as garments. Zolf’s shirt is charred, torn and in many places just entirely gone, leaving much of his broad chest and well-muscled arms bare. Cel feels both the keen desire to look away and entirely frozen, staring at him. 

When they say nothing, in a rare bout of speechlessness, Zolf coughs. “Are you- okay? With- I mean, I can-” he begins to reach for the coat again. 

“N- no!” Cel says much too quickly, face burning. “I mean, I don’t- it’s fine. Whatever- makes you, um, comfortable. I just- I- we should- get back to…”

“Right. Yeah. Getting out of here.”

It’s an effort to look away from him - even when he turns around first, Cel’s eyes linger on the muscles visible on his back - and looking away doesn’t do anything to calm their heartbeat or rid themselves of a few choice thoughts that popped into their head. They squeeze their eyes shut to try and dispel them. Now is  _ not _ the time to be suddenly thinking about their teammate like- 

Except this isn’t really sudden. They can’t deny that they’ve… looked at Zolf a couple times before now. Between his strong build, his intense green eyes, and his gruff, low voice that Cel has maybe wanted to lay their head on him and hear rumble in his chest when he speaks… 

Well, the point is Cel has kept looking, even if they’re not particularly eager to begin anything with their new mercenary acquaintances. Maybe a few decades ago they would have, but they’ve lost enough over the years… 

It’s hard to focus on that, though, when their partner is half-naked on the other side of the room. It’s been so long since they’ve been so aware of someone else this way, they’ve forgotten quite how to deal with it.

There’s sudden static as speakers Cel can’t see turn on. They jump and hear Zolf groan before Shoin even speaks.

“ _ Take comfort in your partners’ bosom _

_ For now you’re safe to breathe, unwind and rest, _

_ You’ll find the stage is set for a perfect respite _

_ And don’t say I never gave you anything nice. _ ”

Cel’s eyes are almost involuntarily drawn again to the large, plush bed, their stomach swooping. “Oh, that’s- that’s very un-  _ un _ -nice,” they mutter, trying to ignore how hot their face feels and hoping Zolf will do the same.

He seems to, simply asking the practical, “What’d he say this time?”

“N-nothing- well- nothing that’s important,” Cel stammers. Their breathing has gone odd and they try to settle themself. “Just- really just confirmed that this is- is a place for- you know how we’ve been talking about how different adventuring groups probably came here before? This is- a- um, rest area for them?”

Zolf frowns. “Locking us in seems a bit much for- then again, all of his other pretense at hospitality have been properly messed up.” He nods toward the bed and rolls his eyes. “Coulda at least put more than one of those in here.”

Cel makes a choked sound before they can stop themself and Zolf looks back at them, this time catching their blush. “What?” They don’t meet his eyes and try to mutter something noncommittal but they know by now it’s fruitless when Zolf wants to know something. “Cel… did he say anything else?”

“Um, just, something about us finding… um, comfort in- in- in each other. You know, like…” They wring their hands.

“Wh-  _ Oh! _ ” He says, eyes gone wide. Before Cel can think of anything else to possibly say, he whacks his glaive on the ground, and shouts up toward the speakers. “Oi, Shoin! Could do without you bein a bloody pervert on top of everything else!”  In spite of being thoroughly flustered, his annoyance actually makes Cel feel a bit better. 

Before they can quite relax, however, the speakers burst into life again. 

“ _ As you catch your breaths, feel yourself lose all your cares _

_ Let the heat overtake you with each second here _

_ There’s no way out except to let it in _

_ Not that you have a choice. _ ”

Oh  _ no _ . Oh, stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ Cel.

They take in a sharp breath, taking in more of whatever Shoin has been flooding the room with as they do so. The aphrodisiac might be clouding their head but that’s no excuse for not recognizing an obvious airborne toxin. This could have been lethal - it still might be - and they’d been breathing it in for minutes. 

Zolf looks to them again, expression mildly concerned. “He still bein’ gross?”

“Y-yeah,” Cel says, their voice a few octaves too high. “Gross might me- um, might be- terrible, disgusting excuse for a person is a bit-a bit more accurate.”

Zolf comes over. There’s a slight glisten of sweat on his skin and Cel shoves their hands in their pockets. Knowing where the desire to touch him is coming from hasn’t lessened it in the slightest. 

“Right,” he says slowly. “Kinda knew that already- what’s new?”

They don’t want to tell him, but he needs to know. “It was all in rhyme again but I think the smoke- or, um, the air- the smell- anyway it’s…” They clear their throat, trying to find the words. “It’s- why we’re both feeling so, um, warm.” 

There’s a terrible silence where Cel briefly wonders if they’re wrong and if the warm Zolf is feeling and the warm they are feeling aren’t the same at all. They don’t know if that’s better or worse.

Then they catch the flush on Zolf’s face, and the way he’s been carefully steadying his breathing - holding his reactions so strongly in check they’re nearly unnoticeable. He’s feeling it, too. Good. No-  _ no _ , Cel. Not  _ good _ . Even if the thought of him looking at them the way they’ve looked at him is making that warmth coalesce and pool in their gut. This is the  _ opposite _ of good, Cel.

“Do you, um, know what it is?” He asks tightly. Cel gets a few words into the scientific properties that would likely be found in something like this before he shakes his head. “Right- right, not what I- can you do anything about it?”

“Oh. Um. No.”

Zolf takes another breath, and that he’s so restrained while they can feel themself unraveling by the second somehow turns them on  _ more _ . So serious, so intense, they want to see what would make him lose control, what it would look like… 

They bite their lip, watch Zolf try _ so hard _ not to look at their mouth, his hands flexing at his sides and- oh, this is bad. Whatever else Shoin is, he’s not wrong. It’s getting very, very hard to think about anything else. They should be breaking out of here or- or checking for vents or- 

Zolf lets out a low growl that Cel feels directly between their legs. “ _ I’m going to kill him _ ,” he snarls. Before they can respond, his hands lash out as if of their own volition, grabbing them by the lapel and pulling them into a kiss. 

It’s a good kiss. It’s an  _ upsettingly _ good kiss. Zolf’s mouth is softer than they ever expected, softer than it has any right to be. Cel’s head swims with the sweetness and the desperation, and they’re kissing him back on instinct. Their tongue darts out to run across the seam of his lips and he  _ moans _ . 

Cel stiffens and he freezes. “I- fuck, I- I didnt-” he says, still so close his beard brushes their chin and his breath is warm on their lips. Before they can stop themself, they kiss him on the tip of his nose, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Zolf makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, leaning back in. 

This time is slower. They move to card their fingers through his hair, angle their head to deepen the kiss. He’s still holding onto their coat like a lifeline, like an anchor. When they part to breathe, it makes it difficult to straighten. “Um,” they say through shallow breaths. “Bed?”

It makes them feel a little queasy to even make the suggestion in light of everything, but it doesn’t stop the swell of heat and gratitude when Zolf shakily nods. 

It’s an undignified proceeding - Cel discarding their coat and bandoliers in the process, wriggling until they have their back against the headboard and frankly ridiculous number of pillows. Zolf moves so he’s not-quite-straddling one of their legs, hands fisted into the sheets on either side of them, still holding himself back.

There isn’t enough time for either of them to feel awkward, to think about where they are or why they’re doing this; Cel is already taking his face in their hands, pulling him into another slow kiss, taking him down until they’re beneath him but not quite pinned. A tiny moan escapes and their hips rock up as they squirm.

Zolf puts a hand on their hip to ease them back down - and now he’s finally  _ touching them _ , his hand immediately, instinctively, slipping under their shirt, his skin warm and calloused. They arch against the touch.

“Cel,” he says against their mouth and Cel can tell he means it as an apology or a warning, but it comes out hoarse and needy and they can do little more than whimper in reply. “Cel,” he tries again, pulling further away and panting slightly, his face flushed. “Fuck, I- this isn’t-” 

Cel shakes their head, unsure what they can say to reassure him - if reassuring is the right thing to do in this instance. “I know,” they say, stroking his beard. Zolf shudders.

“It-um- it might be- could you tell me what you want?”

Cel gives a strangled, breathless sort of laugh. “I, um- ‘want’ really isn’t, I think, really the right… I mean, I think we can safely assume neither of us really  _ want _ anything to do with- with, uh, with this-” They’re not sure if the roll of their hips is to punctuate that statement or their body just continuing to be horribly contrary but either way grinding against Zolf’s thigh ruins their train of thought, ending the ramble in a frustrated groan. 

He shivers again and when he speaks, his voice is strained but dry and ever-practical. “Okay, better question: what do you  _ need _ ?”

A slew of images and ideas come to mind dangerously easily, and Cel bites their lip so hard it nearly draws blood. This has already spiraled, is already too much and yet not nearly enough. If there was a point of no return, it’s been crossed. The heat of his hands on their skin lets them forget the disgusting context for this situation; even if getting lost in this will only make them feel _ more _ disgusted later, they’re past fighting something unwinnable.

They kiss his nose again, watch his eyes flutter shut. “I need you to touch me,” they say inanely. 

It’s apparently all they needed to say, all the permission he’s been waiting for. When Zolf kisses them again it’s rough, hot and desperate, and they don’t try to stifle their moan when his hands move up their side, dragging their shirt up in the process. Cel tightens their fingers in his hair, pulling him gently away again. 

Before he can ask, they grab the hem of their shirt and pull it over their head. They discard it with abandon, all their attention on the way Zolf’s wide eyes roam their chest. Cel has a brief, lucid moment of gratitude that Zolf has seen them undressed before - and that he had treated that initial inspection with his no-nonsense brand of gentleness. Nothing makes this less awful, but they realize they’re glad it’s happening with him.

Cel takes Zolf by the wrist, guiding his hand to their chest. They both inhale at the contact and Cel keeps their hand on him as they lay back down. He settles himself comfortably on top of them, his weight properly pinning them down and  _ oh _ , it’s as wonderful as they’d expected. 

Zolf kisses them at the crook of their neck and they tilt their head immediately. He takes the prompt, kissing up to bite gently at their jaw while he moves a hand to play with their nipple. Cel moans, tangling their fingers in his hair, pulling until he answers with a whine of his own.

“Cel,” he breathes, lifting his head to kiss the corner of their mouth. He tugs gently on their nipple and Cel’s hips buck again, grinding up against the hard outline of his cock. He gasps. “ _ Cel- _ ”

“I know,” they say again. They kiss him swiftly and use the momentum to flip them both over, settling beside him. A laugh catches in their throat at the dazed look in his eye, so undone by a few kisses. Cel knows a portion of that is what is literally in the air but it doesn’t stop the pride and arousal they feel, being able to affect him this way.

They peck his lips - once, twice, again - and move their hands to pull apart what is left of his tattered shirt. Zolf makes a breathless noise that it takes Cel a moment to realize is a laugh. Their heart skips, and they pepper kisses over his chest before straightening and settling their hands on his waist, thumbs hooking under his trousers. They watch him swallow.

“Zolf, I- is this-”

“Please,” Zolf says, before Cel can launch into their stumbling attempt at asking for him. “I- I need… you.”

_ Oh, that’s just unfair _ , Cel thinks miserably, biting on their lip again. He’s not allowed to say things like  _ that  _ while they’re in Shoin’s creepy sex dungeon thing, while all of this is a product of the chemicals in the air. When they’ll both feel terrible about this later. 

But they can’t stop this now - can’t even  _ think _ about stopping right now - so they kiss him again, hard, and drink in the sounds he makes against their mouth as their hands get to work removing the rest of his clothes. 

Cel looks him over for a moment before they run a finger up the length of his cock. Zolf sucks in a breath, grabbing fistfulls of the sheets under him. The touch is barely there, ghosting over him, and his cock twitches every time they take the feather-light pressure away. They circle the tip, adding just a little more weight to it. 

“Fu-uck,” Zolf says through his teeth. It makes them want to laugh, too.

Cel settles more comfortably at his side, reclining on an elbow while their other hand finally wraps around the base and begins to pull him off in earnest. Zolf’s gasps and pants become proper moans, and he turns his head in to press against their collar. He kisses them there, then moves to kiss and suck their nipple. 

“Oh,” they breathe. “Oh, that- that’s nice. That’s-” They lose their words in shuddering sighs. Their eyes drift close, still keeping a steady rhythm to their strokes and losing themself in the sensations of having him in hand and his teeth grazing their sensitive skin. 

Cel feels Zolf’s legs begin to shake as he closes in on a climax, and he whines against them. “Cel, I- fuck, I’m-” His hips buck up against their palm and they twist their wrist just so. Zolf’s whine becomes a cry and his body goes taut as he comes. A second later, he falls against the bed hard enough that several of the pillows tumble to the ground.

His breathing slowly settles and Cel tries not to squirm. Perhaps unsurprisingly, getting him off has done nothing to quell their own desire, but they wonder if it’s helped him. Probably not; the smell is still in the air, now mixed with the scent of sweat and sex into something even more intoxicating. 

When he looks at them again his eyes are still glazed over with pleasure and Cel can’t stop themself from leaning down and kissing the top of his head. “How- um, how are you?” 

Zolf focuses a little more. “I- you, um- that- I’m… good. I think.” 

“Are you still… you know…?” 

Cel licks their lips, watching his gaze as it's pulled from their face down their body and they consider the question answered. He swallows. “ _ Yeah _ .”

“Right,” they say, pushing down their feeling of _relief_. Guilty, they add, “Sorry.”

Zolf moves to kiss their collarbone again. “Not your fault, Cel,” he says, blunt as ever.

“I should have noticed,” they mumble, even as they roll onto their back, even as they tangle their fingers in his hair and they arch his mouth as he moves down their body - removing their trousers in the process. 

“What would you have done?” he asks between affections. “We’re sealed in.”

Cel opens their legs, allowing Zolf to settle between them. “Could’ve done  _ something _ ,” they say softly. Zolf raises an eyebrow, then swipes his thumb on the inside of their thigh. They gasp. 

He keeps their gaze. “I can… stop if you don’t- if this isn’t-” 

They shake their head quickly, and feel more than hear his soft laugh. A breath against overheated skin, making them shiver. Still he doesn’t move, a question in his eyes.

“ _ Please _ ,” they say.

Satisfied, Zolf lowers his head and presses a quick kiss to their thigh. His fingers come up to spread their wet folds, and his tongue runs up their sex. Cel tightens their fingers in his hair, forgetting very suddenly how to breathe. Distantly they can hear him moan, can feel it reverberating against their sensitive flesh. 

He’s almost unbearably gentle, all slow licks and soft suction, taking his time like he’s fucking  _ savoring _ them, and what’s left of their restraint is utterly unraveled. They gasp and cry, rocking their hips against his mouth, feeling the rough texture of his beard digging into their legs but not caring in the least.

Still, no matter how slow he goes it doesn’t change that, if Cel’s honest, they’ve been on the edge for a while now. A few flicks of his tongue on their clit and it’s too much; they come with a shout, throwing their head back and holding on to him with all they have.

They’ve barely caught their breath before they’re pulling him up and kissing him, sloppy and hungry. They can’t smell the gas in the air anymore, all of their senses flooded with him, no room in their thoughts for anything else. 

“Zolf,” they groan, swiping their tongue over his lips, tasting themself on him. “I- fuck, Zolf, I- I need-”

“I know,” he breathes, positioning himself again between their legs. “Me too.”

Cel takes him in hand again, working him until he’s as hard as before and he is panting into their mouth. After one final, desperate, seeking and giving of affirmation, Cel guides his cock into them. 

Zolf gives a low, drawn-out moan, burying his face into the crook of their neck. They hold onto him by the hips, urging his thrusts as deep into them as possible, alternating between quiet, shuddering praise of how good he feels and begging him for more. He fucks them well, matching his movements to the rock of their hips.

A different, dangerous thought worms its way into their otherwise blissfully empty head. How good it would feel, when all this institute business is over, to take Zolf to their bed in the village, to be able to take their time, really explore each other and what they like, to watch him fall apart under and inside them. The thought, paired with Zolf’s next thrust hitting him _just so_ , has Cel nearly sobbing. This is bad, this is bad- this feels so _good_ , _so_ _good_ , _so_ -

Zolf brings a hand between them, rubbing a hard, tight circle over their clit and Cel keens, clenching around him and coming again. They feel his thrusts lose rhythm, his moans grow ragged and a second later he pulls out of them, spilling over his hand and their stomach.

Cel falls back against the bed and takes Zolf with them, utterly spent. Under the sound of both of their heavy breathing, under Cel’s pulse still pounding hot in their ears, they can hear the metallic whirring sound of industrial fans. They blink blearily, noticing the gauzy canopy overhead fluttering with the air circulation. 

The vaguely queasy feeling in Cel’s gut intensifies as they realize they had been so lost in their pleasure that they have no idea when the fans began the room had been pumped with clean air. They can't say how long what they had been doing could be blamed on nothing but their own desire. 

Zolf shifts, his face still pressed against their shoulder. He curses softly, and Cel knows he’s made the same observation.

“I’m going to kill him,” Cel says, their voice wobbling a little. 

He pulls back, his eyes are still heavy and a little unfocused but there’s a hint of his usual intensity. “Cel, I-” He pauses and takes a steadying breath. “We- we’ll talk about this later, alright? This isn't- we'll talk about it, but we do- we still need to get out of here.”

As soon as he says it there’s a grinding noise and the entire wall opposite the door they entered opens to what looks like the continuation for the institute hallway. Cel blames the sudden, bright light for why their eyes are watering. 

“I am going to  _ kill him _ ,” Zolf repeats. He sits up and after a moment’s dithering, puts a hand on Cel’s, his thumb running over their knuckles. The touch doesn’t send heat racing through them anymore but there is nonetheless a spark that makes their heart skip. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as requested in a few comments; the kids finally talk about what happened

There’s not a chance to talk to Cel for a long time after that.

There’s obviously no time while they’re still in the institute. They reunite with the rest of the team, they take down a mechanical creature and take hostage a brain, they uncover some truly horrific kobold cells, they get out. 

Then they’re in quarantine for over a week, never given a second of proper privacy while tensions run high between everyone. Then there’s  _ more _ kobolds, then there’s  _ Sasha _ , and Zolf is in no mood to talk at all let alone about something so personal. 

All the while Cel avoids Zolf. He tries not to be bothered. He fails.

He  _ hates _ it. Hates the way they won’t look at him, hates the flush visible on their neck and the tips of their ears when they do, hates that he can feel a similar heat on his face when he looks at them. He hates that he’d had something he might have dared to call the beginnings of a friendship with Cel, and that it has been utterly destroyed by the machinations of what is nothing more than a bloody brain in an orb. 

He hates most of all that he still catches himself thinking about it. 

Zolf remembers it like remembering a dream, the details vague and out of focus, while the emotions it evoked linger far longer than they have any right to. He gets snapshots of sensations: The barest touch of their calloused fingertips over his skin, the small burns and scars down their neck and chest and the way they shivered when he pressed his lips to each, the slick and heady sweetness of their cunt - their long legs draped over his shoulders, their hips rocking gently, their high, reedy moans musical to his ears. 

Embarrassingly, what he remembers most is that praise. He remembers it in the words - panted into his mouth;  _ yes _ , _ there _ ,  _ oh Zolf fuck you feel so good _ ; affirmations he isn’t even sure they remember _ giving _ \- as much as in the little noises they made when he touched them just so, encouraging and gratifying in a way that still makes him feel warm. And a little sick. 

What is he supposed to say to them?  _I’m sorry we got trapped in Shoin’s sex dungeon and that I might have liked parts of it in a way that had nothing to do with whatever chemical junk had been in the air_ ? No doubt they’d take  _ that  _ well. 

Still, Zolf needs to say something. He told them they’d talk and he’s not going to break that promise just because he’s embarrassed. If nothing else, the rest of the team is starting to pick up on it and, for Cel’s sake as much as his, he refuses to let it get to the point where one of them asks.

So he catches them when they’ve returned to the inn after spending time in their village. They’re setting off to Hiroshima soon after, but taking down Shoin has taken away most of Cel’s anxiety about leaving again. Zolf finds them clutching a stuffed red panda nearly as big as Hamid, their smile both wider and more genuine than it has been in days. He’s mad at himself for having to ruin their good mood, but it’s the best chance he’ll get.

“Ah- Cel, do you… have a minute?” He winces around the words but they’re finally said.

Unsurprisingly, the smile falters. “Oh. Um. Sure. D-Did you need something, Mr. Smith?”

That’s another thing: He’s “ _ Mr. Smith _ ” now. Exclusively. Like he’s a stranger or worse, like he’s their boss. He shakes himself. “No- well, I mean not- not exactly. I thought if you- maybe we could… talk.”

Cel gives him a blank look for long enough that he’s afraid he might have to explain in more detail than he really wants to while they’re still in the semi-public halls of the inn. Then they give a small inhale, the uncomfortable blush he’s become familiar with coloring their cheekbones. “Oh, right. Talking. I- I- well, I mean, if you think now- I suppose now _ is _ , um, a better time than… we’re hitting the road again tomorrow aren’t we and we- we should have, um, closure?” 

“That was the thought,” Zolf says, trying to sound like he’d thought much at all about what he was going to say. “I mean, if you’re not… if you want to wait-”

“No,” they say quickly. “N-no, no. It’s a good- good thought, Mr. Smith. We- now is good.”

“Right,” he says. They both stand there, looking at each other for another second. “Um. We probably shouldn’t… here... and-”

“Oh! Yes! Right, good- that’s a good idea.”

They are  _ not _ going to a bedroom, settling on a common area that’s in a corner of the inn no one is occupying. After an awkward pause, they end up sitting down on opposite sides of a settee. Zolf is torn between wanting to look anywhere but Cel - it really doesn’t help that prior to this he had already considered them quite striking, aesthetically - and knowing that doing so will only make this worse. He looks at them and attempts a smile, Cel returns it, big and bright and brittle.

“So,” they say. “Talking. Talking about- about Shoin’s… stuff. Right. I- I don’t suppose you’ve thought of a- a jumping off topic because I have been mostly not- trying to not think about  _ any _ of that so I can’t really say I’ve got anything to, you know, go from and-”

Zolf winces. That’s a great start. “Cel,” he interrupts, as gently as he is able. They go quiet, fidgeting their hands in their lap. “Listen, if you’d rather- we don’t  _ need _ to do this if you want to… not think about it. I just- if there’s anything you did want to say, or ask - wanted you to have the chance, I guess.”

They’re silent for a long time and Zolf almost thinks that this will be the end of it. That Cel will get up and leave again, and what’s broken between them will simply stay that way. 

“No,” they say at last, looking at their hands. “This- you’re right. This is just- I don’t, um, have any experience with this kind of situation.”

“Me neither,” he says dryly. 

Cel lets out a short exhale that he realizes is meant as a laugh. “Right.” They pause, then glance at him sidelong. “About that. I, um- that- that wasn’t… your first time, was it?”

Zolf rubs the back of his neck, painfully aware of how hot it is. “It was that bad, huh?”

“What? Oh no, no, no- I didn’t mean- that wasn’t what I-” 

He flushes darker. “No, no, I- meant that as… trying to lighten the mood.”

“Oh. Yeah. Heh.” Their smile is still tight but he does think they’re a little more at ease. “It’s that- some people care a lot about that. Their first time, I mean, and- and even if you didn’t I still- I wouldn’t want you to- I wouldn’t have wanted that. For you.”

“Right. Well, it wasn’t my first.” He shifts a little, clears his throat. “I mean it’s not- not something I’m usually… interested in. Much. But it wasn’t my first time.”

Cel’s expression falls immediately and Zolf wants to kick himself. “I’m so sorry,” they say quietly. 

“That wasn’t what I- Cel, it wasn’t your fault-”

They make a frustrated noise. “Is that what this talk is going to be? Because I don’t really think that’s actually very helpful in the- you know- in the scheme of things.”

“What, do you want me to blame you?” He asks testily. 

“Ye- well, not exactly! I just don’t think we’re going to get anywhere if all you’re going to say is ‘ _no, Cel, all of this was just Shoin being a perverted creep_ -’”

“It is; he was,” Zolf interjects. 

They shoot him a look. He kind of likes it, likes that it’s annoyed and impatient and _ real _ . “Yes but that isn’t- that isn’t the point, is it, or we wouldn’t be needing to talk at all we could both just- just mark this off as something horrible we went through that we could both forget about and- and move on from our own ways and-”

“Cel-”

“And I know you’re going to try and say something about  _ coping mechanisms _ but that is- isn’t the point either!” Cel winces at their own shout, and drops their voice. “It isn’t- this isn’t about f _ ault _ . It’s not what I...”

They trail off into mumbling, their eyes drop to their hands. Zolf considers reaching out and laying a hand on theirs but touching them would probably make this worse. 

When they don’t say anything he takes a risk. “What is this about, then?”

Cel doesn’t react and he is about to wonder whether or not they heard him when they glance quickly at him and then away. “I just-” they stop, take a deep breath. “I didn’t want it… like that.”

It takes Zolf a moment to understand, and when he does his heart, already stuttering uneven beats in his chest, nearly doubles its speed. They had… they had wanted him. Before this. 

Being  _ wanted _ isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with but neither is it something he has much history with.  _ Wanting someone _ even less so. What few physical relationships he’s had never involved him feeling like it's described in a Cambell novel - or the way the gas had made him feel. What he’d liked about those relationships are the same memories from the institute that he cannot shake, the pleasure that came from pleasing someone else, the pride in what reactions he could draw from them, and the idea that making Cel feel that way  _ hadn’t _ just been a product of the chemicals makes it hard for him to breathe.

Except there had been none of that control then; there had been a mockery of the trust that situation should have. Zolf looks at the miserable expression on Cel’s face and wishes they had done far worse to Shoin’s brain. 

“Cel,” he says, gentle in spite of the anger he feels on their behalf. “I’m sorry.”

They shake their head rapidly. “No. No, don’t- you shouldn’t- I mean, it wasn’t really like I planned on doing anything with- with- I mean, relationships are complicated even when you’re not, you know, trying to stop a war or apocalypse or what-have-you. I just thought if we were doing the talking thing I should say I- I didn’t want any of that-” Zolf begins to speak and they quickly push on. “- but there were parts of it that I- that felt nice. And I’m sorry that I- I'm sorry about that.”

“Don’t a- Cel, I wanted that to feel nice.” They look up, startled, cheeks very red. He feels his own face warm. “Look, nothing about that... neither of us wanted that - you didn’t need to tell me that - and if you had told me to stop I would have, gas or whatever be damned, and I know you would have done the same.”

Cel holds his gaze, and he hopes he is conveying that he means what he says. That he trusts them still, cares about them still. A corner of their mouth twitches, and though it’s not a happy smile he thinks he prefers it that way. “That doesn’t make that alright,” they say at last, but there’s no bite to it.

“Well, yeah, of course it doesn’t. Everything about that was awful,” Zolf says flatly. Cel’s smile quirks up a little more, and he finally puts his hand on theirs. “But we _ both _ went through it - so don’t apologize for it. Okay?”

There’s a second hesitation before Cel gives his hand a squeeze. “Yeah. I, um… okay.”

They both fall silent. There’s not really anything else to say, but neither of them are in a hurry to leave. Cel’s eyes linger on his face and Zolf runs his thumb over the back of the hand he holds. There’s a call of seagulls, distant but loud enough to break the spell of silence.

Cel hops to their feet, cheeks pink. “Right. Well, that was- that was a good talk, Mr. Sm- Zolf. Th- thank you.”

“Um, it- it was nothing,” he says, trying not to flex his hand. This _ energy _ that's still between them is something else they’ll need to talk about, and he can tell from the look they’re giving him, Cel knows that, too. But it doesn’t have to be now. In fact, it probably shouldn’t be. Their relationship isn’t in tatters, is what matters, and now they can build it into… whatever it might be. 

Cel picks up their stuffed red panda, plopped on another chair, and gives him a smile before they leave. It's bright again, but not so breakable. He returns it.

* * *

A week later, after the airship has an anxiety-inducing trip through an aurora, Cel knocks on his door, their expression nervous but  _ sure _ . He lets them in before they even explain.

The cabin smells of nothing but old wood, metal plating and ozone, and when Cel kisses him there is no burning, all-consuming desperation. Zolf takes his time, remembering the places that they liked, finding new ones, lingering brushes of fingertips and grazing of teeth until they’re writhing under him and he knows that the “ _ please _ ,” that falls from their lips is theirs and theirs alone.

When they’ve finished, Cel gathers him into their arms and breathes, “Thank you, Zolf.” 

Zolf rests his head on their chest. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs.

They fall asleep together, comfortable and content. 


End file.
